


Bliss

by theywere-neverhomeless (notyourdadsaugspecialist)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Consensual Underage Sex, F/M, Guilty Dean, I mean is she really underage if shes older than creation, Underage Amara, idk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-09
Updated: 2016-10-09
Packaged: 2018-08-20 09:27:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8244349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notyourdadsaugspecialist/pseuds/theywere-neverhomeless
Summary: He shouldn't have expected anything less, but she is a force of nature, and she kisses like one. Her tongue licks into his mouth with decisiveness and easiness, with just a tinge of inexperience that makes Dean tremble, and he groans into her mouth. He's as helpless now against her youthful claiming as he was in the driver’s seat of the Impala when she was unleashed on the world.





	

Dean’s fingers shake around the tumbled glass in his hand as the whiskey burns in his throat. He had just stood there with the knife in his hand, and instead of doing _anything_ to put her down, he stood frozen, emotions heavy and insistent tugging at him as young, sweet Amara cupped his jaw tenderly, almost lovingly. He remembers the feel of her skin against his, the electric current that felt like a completed circuit once they touched. He remembers the bliss. The feeling of unadulterated fulfillment, of utter completion.

A shaky breath tumbles out of Dean’s lungs, licking his lips in the memory of the way her eyes raked up and down his body, seeing into the very heart of him. He had never felt more exposed, not even when he was strung up on the rack in Hell, carved slice by slice to the bone. Everything he had, everything he _was_ laid bare for her. And she didn't balk, didn't recoil, didn't look away.

She smiled.

She looked at the darkest, most grotesque parts of him, and she stepped closer.

The gaze she dragged up his body branded him like a white hot poker on his soul, and when she paused on his lips, he gasped. Her eyes finally met his and he saw darkness, and love, and _desire._

His body responded viscerally, and a groan worked its way out of his chest, his cock throbbing heartily at the sultry way she bit her lip as she smirked at him.

A low coil of guilt burned its way up his spine, but he couldn't deny how he felt. And god, he wanted to kiss her. He wanted to know what she tasted like, ancient and young and innocent and _forever._ The slow simmering fan of shame wrapped around his lust in a way that made his hands shake with want.

She looked at him and she smiled.

That up-quirk of her lips had his resolve crumbling, and he knew that all she had to do was ask and he would give her the world on a platter.

Dean gasps, torn from the memory with the feel of his own hand palming his cock.

She smelled _so good_ , like peaches and old library books and secrets, and Dean’s mouth waters as he wonders what she would taste like under his tongue.

He remembers what Amara looked like fresh after her release, those long lashes and that silky voice, but even so he doesn't tremble with need over that version. But the young innocent _not quite_ adult with the soft face and the creamy skin? He _aches_ for her, and he feels so fucking guilty about that, but it only makes him harder.

What would she have done if he had leaned down and pressed their mouths together? Would she have sighed into his lips, letting him delve into the soft wet heat of her, letting him offer himself in the only way Dean Winchester knows how?

_Amara…_

The name ghosts across his lips before he realizes he's said it, a plea, a prayer.

Bliss.

A loving touch brushes across his jawline, and Dean’s eyes snap open even as the smell of fruit and books and blood encases him.

“I heard you call out to me, Dean,” the gentle lilting voice stirs something profound in him as her soft gaze settles to where his hand is lewdly cupping his cock. Shame licks at him, a corrosive force that he's becoming far too familiar with, and he makes a valiant effort to force his knees together and move his hand elsewhere, but he doesn't even have time to look properly guilty before he has a lapful of teenage Darkness in his lap.

“I heard your prayer.”

She bats his hands away from his crotch and leans down to capture his mouth with hers.

He shouldn't have expected anything less, but she is a force of nature, and she kisses like one. Her tongue licks into his mouth with decisiveness and easiness, with just a tinge of inexperience that makes Dean tremble, and he groans into her mouth. He's as helpless now against her youthful claiming as he was in the driver’s seat of the Impala when she was unleashed on the world.

Her fingers knot in his hair and tighten, and Dean can't help but grind up into her hips where they press against his, and his cock throbs at the small hitch he hears in her voice.

“Dean,” she moans against his lips, her tiny little body pressed against every inch of him like she’s trying to meld the two of them together into one being.

“Yes,” he whispers into her mouth, an affirmation, an assent, a promise.

“Touch me.” It isn't a request so much as a command, and Dean already knows he would give her anything, _everything,_ and this is something he cannot refuse her.

“Yes,” he says again, a murmur against her skin as he slides his hands up her thighs, drunk on the way she responds to him. She grinds down in his lap, and he can feel her wetness against the denim of his pants already. Dean groans helplessly as he bucks against her, lips ghosting across the Mark against her collarbone and she moans so pretty in his ear. He feels honored. Chosen. And he supposes that in a way, he is.

For whatever reason, he was chosen to wield the Mark. Her Mark. He had been branded as hers before they ever met, and as he cups one of her small breasts in his hand, as he feels her arch into his touch and coat his jeans with her wetness, he knows that there is nothing he can deny her. Nothing he would want to deny her.

Bliss.

The feeling almost overwhelms him when he pushes the dress off those slender shoulders and captures a pink rosebud of a nipple in his mouth. He groans thickly at the taste of her, at the way her petite form trembles at his touch.  He pulls away, gasping, because fuck he's close and he wants to come buried inside her after giving her everything he has to offer.

A calloused hand wraps around her waist and she moans his name, so sweet and pure on her soft lips, a benediction that he knows he could get addicted to. His other hand meets the small of her back on the other side and together his fists dig into the fabric of her dress and _tear_ , and he can see the spark of heat in her eyes at the display of strength. She sits perched atop him for all the world as though she has every right to be. There is no shyness in her gaze, and she makes no attempt to hide her body from him.

Her almost-woman body with its soft curves and sharp angles, with her creamy unblemished skin, the slight curve of her breasts, with small perfect pink areolas gracing the tiny mounds. Her hipbones jut out in stark contrast with the taut line of her stomach, and he can see a small dusting of brown curls disappear into her underwear. The burgundy lace is such a jarring comparison to the worn denim still covering his thighs, and Dean groans, a thick, wanton sound that reverberates deep in his chest.

This little girl is wrecking him from the inside out and he knows he will never recover.

She mewls out his name, stuttering on the first letter in surprise as his fingers ghost across her clit trapped between them. She rocks into his hand, the movement unsure, and the fact that she's millions of years old but has never done this before nearly sends Dean over the edge.

He surges up and claims her mouth again, letting his hunger fuel the kiss and he drinks in every moan he coaxes from her, slipping his hand into her underwear and brushing the pad of his finger against her clit. She bucks, sagging against him for a moment.

“Dean,” she rasps, her childlike voice wrecked, and Dean growls into her mouth and picks her up. She clings to him, startled, and he moves her swiftly to the table where he parts her legs, pushes her panties to the side with a tug, sinks to his knees in one deft movement and buries his face between her thighs.

Amara cries out, her head falling back with a high keen, and Dean laps at her hole like it’s the only reason he's alive. His nose brushes her clit and the stubble on his cheeks burn against her smooth, tender thighs but she only arches into it, burying her fingers in his hair, accepting everything he has to offer graciously, and he's so fucking grateful.

He locks his lips around her tiny clit and slides two fingers into her pussy, pressing gently but insistently into her virgin hole as he laps up her sweet juices, chasing every bit of the slick fluid while he slowly pumps those two fingers in and out of her.

When he enters her, Amara groans gutturally, her hips grinding into his hand eagerly as she chases more of the pleasure Dean promises her. He continues to fuck her gently with his fingers until, legs trembling, Amara pushes him away. She doesn't let him go far, but pulls him up by the hair to kiss him deeply, and she moans at the taste of herself on his tongue.

“I want more, Dean,” Amara says, a quiet hunger in her surprisingly steady voice that takes root deep inside Dean. “I want it all.”

Dean backs up a few steps to give her room as she slides down from the table and advances on him. She makes quick work of the belt and Dean is spellbound as he watches her tiny, nimble fingers unbutton and then unzip his pants. She flicks her hand at the pants and gestures downward, and Dean nearly stumbles over himself in his haste to comply.

His pants are around his knees, leaking cock finally springing free from its confines when she pushes him back into the chair. Dean is essentially trapped, legs immobile as she approaches, but leaving is so far out of the realm of possibility at this point, and the guilt he feels when her small hand wraps around his cock is miniscule compared to the overwhelming desire that clouds his vision.

“Amara, please,” he begs, voice hoarse with need, and she smiles at him before straddling his hips again. He groans, hands flying to her hips as she slides her wet pussy lips against his shaft. He grinds up into the sensation, hissing when the head of his cock brushes against her clit.

Dean can feel how small she is now. There's no denying that this body isn't fully developed, that she shouldn't be big enough to take him, but when he tires of her teasing and moves her hips himself to spear her on his cock, she takes him inch by agonous inch with no pain, no reserve, just slow and steady envelopment of wet velvet heat pulsing around his cock like the world’s tightest sleeve.

They both groan when he finally penetrates her, and she sinks down onto him with a slow determination that leaves his legs aching and trembling with the effort of staying still.  When she finally bottoms out, those fuzzy curls of hers brushing against his coarse hair as her fluids slowly slide down his sac, Dean is coated in a thin sheen of sweat.

The fact that she is so tiny, fully nude atop him while he's completely clothed save for his pants shoved down to his knees makes him feel dirty, and old and perverted, but the guilt of it makes his cock swell and throb inside her, and she gasps into his mouth at the force of it.

“Dean…” She whispers into the kiss, voice firm and Dean knows it’s a command. He grabs her hips and holds her while he pulls his own hips backward, pulling out of her incredible vice-like heat slowly, torturously, and the absence of her around him pangs him like the loss of a limb. When only his tip remains inside her, he thrusts upward and pushes down on her hips at the same time, angling his cants up and he can feel that spongey spot graze the head of his dick as he begins to fuck her. He knows he is hitting her g-spot with every thrust by the sound of her sharp, breathy moans as she mouths at the crease of his lips.

Dean’s whole world narrows down to where he is penetrating her, everything else falling away as he focuses on the slick glide of flesh, the slow build of heat spreading from deep within him. He knows she can feel it too because her gaze is hot and promising, eyes dark with lust and ownership.

She moans his name as he bends down to capture her nipple in his mouth again, and he groans against her skin as the change in angle makes her cry out.

Bliss.

That circuit completes again, overwhelming him, and suddenly he's close, so close. He gasps out a breath around her nipple and pounds into her as his hand finds its way between them. He thumbs at her clit relentlessly as he fills her mercilessly, and her back snaps taut and her thighs constrict around him and her vagina clamps, convulsing and she's keening, scrabbling at his back for purchase and he's coming, coming, coming, burying himself in her farther than he thought her tiny body was capable of.

She bites his neck viciously as she screams out her orgasm, and his thumb never relents its pace on her oversensitive clit, and he coaxes out orgasm after orgasm from her until she slaps his hand away and sags against him.

Dean whimpers out a garbled cry as her teeth unclench around his flesh, and he sees a trickle of blood on her lips, and fuck if that doesn't make his dick twitch in a valiant effort to harden again.

Dean makes no move to dislodge her, to cover her or himself, and she looks deep into him as she did when they first met. He can feel her brushing against the most damaged parts of his soul, and he jerks on instinct, but her touch holds only love. Dean blinks his eyes closed, letting a tear escape his wet eyes, overcome with it.

Bliss.

“Don't you see, Dean? I'm not evil. You are mine and I am yours. I am the beginning and I will be the end. I want to share it with you.”

Slowly, Amara uses her leverage on Dean’s shoulders to push herself up up up and off of his cock, which pops free with a lewd squelch. Dean slumps into his chair, bone-tired and utterly defeated.

“You're a warrior, Dean. Your first instinct is to resist. After all you've experienced, I don't blame you.”

She leans forward and presses a chaste kiss against Dean’s still parted lips, and his eyes flutter closed as he loses himself in it again.

Bliss.

“Think about it, Dean. Bliss. You and me, forever.”

Dean keeps his eyes closed for several moments, wholly unsure how to respond. He opens them slowly and jerks forward when he finds her gone.

The only evidence of what they'd done was in the drying juices coating his cock and the damp spot on his jeans still pushed around his knees.

With a groan, Dean shifts his hips upward enough to slide his jeans back up around his hips where they belong.

He bites his lip, worrying it with his teeth as he finally begins to process what just happened.

The Darkness came to him, and he fucked her. She wasn't even a woman yet, this ancient being, and he fucked her.  His cock gives a sympathetic twitch, and he groans, burying his head in his arms on the table.

The soft feel of delicate fingers carding through his hair has the guilt crashing over him in waves now.

_Think on it, Dean. You and me. Bliss._


End file.
